


The Drinks In The Dark At The End Of My Road

by ErinHoltzmann



Category: Florence + the Machine
Genre: Bartender Florence, Clubbing, DJ Isabella, F/F, Love Letters, Oral Sex, Pining, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-08 06:26:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5486954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinHoltzmann/pseuds/ErinHoltzmann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Florence works in a night club and Isabella performs there. Florence is immediately transfixed by the DJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rravenclaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rravenclaw/gifts).



> Written as a Christmas present for Hannah who gave me this description: “Isabella is a DJ and Florence is a bartender and Isabella has a gig in that bar and Florence wants to get into her pants and Isabella is there more often basically and Florence invites Isabella to a drink after the gig and Florence says it’s on the house.”

Florence was young and needed the money. Her mother had told her if she wanted to keep on making exuberant purchases, then she would need to start earning her own money. Her mother refused to pay for anything besides her education.

Florence knew that there wasn’t much she could do. She had never had confidence in any of her abilities besides singing. She knew she was fairly good at that, or so people kept telling her. But no one would hire an unknown 19-year-old because of her pretty voice.

Then one day Grace came home with a folder she had been handed outside of her school. A local club was looking for bartenders. All you had to do in order to be hired was to be able to tell the different kinds of alcohol apart and look decent. Florence had no problem with the first part and people had often told her she was pretty and even though she had a hard time believing it, she hoped that they were right.

Florence went to the interview and they hired her there and then. She had known that her vast knowledge of alcohol would come in handy one day.

It wasn’t an easy job. Florence had to work hard for her money. The club was open five nights a week, usually from Thursday to Monday, and Florence had to work three of them. It was a painful couple of hours. The music was loud and often Florence couldn’t understand what most of the people were ordering and her feet hurt from standing. But she knew she could consider herself lucky for having found this job. And it didn’t pay badly and therefore gave her the opportunity to gain a bit of independence from her mother.

The club usually played club music and the current charts, but sometimes they had DJs there who were famous within the club scene. On these nights, they raised the entry fee and hired security guards from a security company. Florence always felt special when she could walk past the waiting crowd into the club without resistance.

It was on one of those nights that Florence saw Isabella Summers for the first time. Florence enjoyed being able to flirt with good-looking people. As a bartender, it was easy for her to invite them to a drink or two. During the two months she had worked there, she had already gotten the phone numbers of two men and three women and had gone on a date with one of the women.

But with Isabella Summers, things weren’t as easy. Florence spotted her for the first time as she was setting up her equipment on stage. She would forever remember this moment. Isabella had long, wavy hair, the ends dyed a bright pink. She was wearing hot pants and a crop top and Florence couldn’t take her eyes off the small bit of stomach which was revealed this way. She knew she shouldn’t stare like this, but Isabella was the most beautiful woman Florence had ever seen. She loved how she moved in her high heels across the stage, careful not to step on any of the cables. One of the early birds had to snap his fingers in front of Florence’s eyes to get her attention. When she had finished preparing the man’s drink, Isabella was gone.

Florence had heard of her. She was knowledgeable when it came to London’s music scene and when they had announced that Isabella Summers would be playing in her club, she had been very excited indeed. It wasn’t every day that an award-winning DJ was playing in this club. But when she had seen Isabella for the first time, she had been nervous beyond the point of seeing a famous DJ. Her heart had beat faster and she had blushed and when she saw that Isabella had left the stage, she was giddy at the thought that she would see her again soon.

There weren’t many people around yet and Florence didn’t have much to do, so she used the time to google Isabella Summers and look at pictures of her. There weren’t many online – a relatively unknown DJ wasn’t often asked to do a photoshoot or to appear at a fancy gala. But Florence found an older photoshoot of her and enlarged every picture as good as possible to be able to stare at Isabella’s face. She also dressed very appealingly, or so Florence thought, short dresses and high heels, or oversized shirts and trousers. Florence even found a YouTube video of one of Isabella’s gigs, but she couldn’t watch it while at work. And anyway, she would see the real thing soon enough.

More and more people filed into the club. Everyone was excited for the gig, and when people ordered drinks from her, their eyes were more often on the stage than on Florence. Florence herself couldn’t quite focus on the work at hand and was distracted by one or the other technician who came on stage. When she spotted the guy who would do the sound check, she almost dropped the glass she was holding because she was so nervous.

Usually, Florence didn’t enjoy the performances on stage much. It was louder than usually and people sometimes forgot that they had ordered a drink because they were so transfixed by what was going on on stage. But today Florence couldn’t wait for the show to begin.

As opposed to usual, the lights didn’t go out before Isabella came on. She stepped out onto the stage, her head turned; she was talking to someone backstage, laughing at a shared joke or funny story. The woman whom Florence was preparing a drink for gripped the arm of a friend and pointed to the stage. Florence had to tap the woman on her shoulder to alert her that her drink was ready.

For at least the first two songs, Florence would be left alone because everyone would be listening to the music and watching the stage. This gave Florence the opportunity to do the same. Isabella was still wearing the same clothes as before, but had done her hair up in a ponytail. Florence swallowed hard, excited to see Isabella perform.

“Hello, everyone,” she said into the microphone in front of her mixer.

Some people in the audience clapped, and so did Florence.

“This isn’t a concert,” Isabella told them. “I don’t want to see anyone standing around. You’re all here to dance.”

Florence would have liked to dance as well, but she had to stand behind the bar and wait for someone to come and order a drink.

Isabella was good, certainly one of the best DJs Florence had ever seen. She realised that she was a bit biased because she wanted Isabella to do good, but the rest of the audience agreed with her. Florence had never seen the club this full. People still managed to dance though, and more than once Florence feared that someone would stumble across the bar and fall into her lap.

Isabella looked completely happy up there on the stage and for a good long while Florence couldn’t take her eyes off her. She was thankful for the secure spot from which she could watch the stage in peace. She was transfixed by Isabella’s performance, getting lost in the movements of her hands and the look of blissful concentration on her face.

It was over too soon. Florence had promised herself to enjoy every last minute of it. But she spent most of the time worrying about it being over soon, so when it finally was, she was twice as crushed because she had the feeling she hadn’t enjoyed it properly. But there was still the possibility that Isabella would come to the bar for a drink and they could talk. Some of the DJs did that sometimes and Florence couldn’t wait to invite Isabella to a drink. But she never came and Florence waited for her in vain with just the memory to keep her company.


	2. The Second Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabella comes back to the club for another gig and Florence admires her from the safety of the audience.

Over the next couple of weeks, Florence checked the announcements in the club every day she came in, but she never spotted Isabella’s name. There were other gigs, of course. Florence had googled Isabella the minutes she had gotten home, but every time she would play somewhere in the next two months, Florence had to work. And she had been told in the beginning that swapping your shift would only be granted if there was an emergency. And wanting to see a concert didn’t count as an emergency.

Florence had found a YouTube recording of one of Isabella’s gigs and she had made a habit of watching it every evening before she went to sleep. Sometimes she asked herself what was so special about Isabella and why she was so fascinated by her, but when she watched the videos, she was transfixed. Nothing else mattered to her.

Florence had been fascinated by musicians before. Understandable, she had always thought, because she wanted to be one herself. But this was the first time her appreciation went beyond their music. Florence admired everything when it came to Isabella: her music, her outfits, her gestures, her hair, her face, … The list was endless. And Florence was sure that she would learn to admire other things as well, if she only got to know Isabella.

Florence didn’t enjoy her job much, but having to watch mediocre DJs for once or twice a week made it even more unbearable. She knew she was biased now and bound to find every other DJ mediocre at best, but she couldn’t help herself when she thought back on how brilliant Isabella had been. What made her job bearable, though, was the thought that Isabella would be back sooner or later. And then she could probably talk to her.

Summer turned into autumn and there was still no sign of her. Florence had started with university. It became more and more difficult to go to the club in the evening because it was cold and dark outside, and Florence would much rather stay at home in bed with a book.

When she came to the club one evening in early November, her eyes wandered to the blackboard in the entrance where she finally spotted Isabella’s name. Florence rushed over to have a closer look at the leaflet and read that she would be back in two weeks. But then Florence checked the date against her schedule and realised that she wouldn’t be working on this day. It wouldn’t keep her from going to the gig, but it would make it much harder for her to buy Isabella a drink because this way she would just be another fan.

“Have you seen who’s coming back?” Beccy asked her when she came into the locker room to hang up the coat.

“Who?” Florence asked, thinking about their team leader who had been sick with pneumonia for the last two weeks.

“Isabella Summers.” Beccy winked at her.

“Oh yes,” Florence answered, gracefully ignoring Beccy’s wink. “I saw.”

Her colleagues, and especially Beccy who had become a friend to her, knew about her infatuation with Isabella.

“Are you excited?” The tone in Beccy’s voice was playfully teasing.

“I won’t be able to go, though,” Florence told her, closing the door to her locker with a bit more force than she had wanted to.

“Why?” Beccy asked, watching Florence fix the top hat which was part of their uniform to her hair, so it wouldn’t move while she was working.

“Because it’s my day off,” Florence answered.

“You can still come to the gig, can’t you?” Beccy pointed out.

“But it won’t be the same,” Florence complained.

“The same as what?” Beccy probed.

“The same as when I would be working,” Florence elaborated.

“Isn’t it better though?” Beccy pointed out. “After all, you’ll be able to focus on the concert and not be forced to deal with people ordering unnecessarily expensive drinks.”

Beccy was even more unhappy with her job than Florence was because she didn’t much care for drinks and wasn’t good at mixing them. As harsh as it sounded, Florence was pretty sure they only kept her for her looks. She didn’t mind. Beccy wasn’t so bad that Florence had to do her work for her, and she had turned out to be a good friend. Her looks were a bonus, of course.

“No, it’s worse than working,” Florence told her. “I’ll only be another person in the audience; there will be no excuse for me to talk to Isabella, you see.”

Beccy giggled. “Do you think she will treat you differently because you work here?”

“She might come to the bar for a drink,” Florence shrugged, “and then I could invite her to a drink.”

“Florence, there are other ways to meet people,” Beccy explained. She was all too familiar with Florence’s strategy of inviting people she fancied to a drink. “And who says you can’t do that when you’re there as an audience member? You can always wait for her next to the bar and buy her a drink.”

“But it’s not the same.”

“I would swap with you, but you know that they think about that,” Beccy offered.

“No, please, it’s not worth it,” Florence declined.

“I can always hand her a drink and tell her it came from you. And I’m sure you’ll do fine without the hat.”

Florence blushed and shoved Beccy playfully.

The next few weeks Florence thought about what outfit she should wear to Isabella’s next gig. She practiced what she would say to her when she finally met her (should she make a joke? should she use a cheesy pickup line? should she tell her she appreciated her work?). The possibilities were endless.

Then again, she thought about what would happen if Isabella wouldn’t show up. She could still see her on stage, but she couldn’t talk to her. She could always write her a letter, she thought, and ask Beccy to bring it backstage for her. But what to put in the letter? She couldn’t very well tell her that looking at her face was one of her favourite pastimes and that she knew every video of her by heart. Beccy would laugh at her, could she see her bent over a piece of paper, thinking about what to write to Isabella, not planning on ever giving her the letter.

The Saturday on which Isabella would perform couldn’t come fast enough, and yet it was there too fast. Florence didn’t feel mentally prepared at all. She had decided to wear a dress and high heels despite this being one of the most uncomfortable outfits she could wear if she had to stand for a longer amount of time. This way, she hoped she would stand out and Isabella would notice her.

Her favoured treatment still applied, even though she wasn’t working tonight, so she was the first person who was allowed in the club. Beccy was already behind the bar and smiled at her when she spotted Florence walking towards her.

“The outfit is a bit daring, isn’t it?” Beccy asked, letting her eyes wander across Florence’s body. “Do you have an ulterior motive apart from listening to Isabella’s music?”

Florence was used to Beccy’s teasing. “You be quiet,” she said, opening her clutch bag. She pulled out the letter she had written to Isabella. It was a toned down version of what she wanted to tell her. Isabella would read about how Florence admired her and that she wanted to make music as well. There was nothing in there she would have to be embarrassed about should she ever meet Isabella in person. “Could you give Isabella this letter if she doesn’t come out to the bar?”

“Sure,” Beccy shrugged, accepting the envelope and putting it into her apron’s pocket. “Shall I give her a message as well, like that you want to –”

“Shush,” Florence cut her short.

“Do you want a drink before the main event, or can I tempt you with anything else?” Beccy played the perfect host.

Florence shook her head. She would have very much liked a drink, but she also wanted to remain clear-headed for the concert.

“This is not the Florence I know,” Beccy exclaimed.

“Do you think it’s too early for me to go to the stage?” Florence asked, her brows furrowed in concentration.

“Not if you want to appear really desperate,” Beccy told her.

Florence rolled her eyes. “But I want to be up front.”

“You will be,” Beccy assured her. “This isn’t a concert, this is a club night. You’re supposed to dance, not to stand there and cheer the DJ.”

“Watch me,” Florence declared.

There was a commotion behind her, as some people entered the club.

“Oh,” Florence made in surprise, starting towards the stage.

Beccy laughed. “You still have two more hours, Flo. And you don’t want to spend them standing around in those shoes of yours.”

“She might come out,” Florence pointed out. “Last time she came to the stage earlier for a sound check or something.”

“Then please, go,” Beccy allowed graciously, “but don’t come complaining to me when your feet hurt.”

Florence waved goodbye to her and strolled to the stage, regarding her surroundings with feigned interest. She acted as if this was her first time in the club. Her path led her slowly but steadily to the stage, where she leaned on the barrier. Nonchalantly, she regarded the other people in the club. Most of them were women in their early twenties, but there was also the occasional man who stared at the women around him in a way that made Florence uncomfortable. When her eyes met Beccy’s, Beccy smiled at her and shook her head.

Florence didn’t have to wait for too long for Isabella to make an appearance. She announced herself with a little cough and when Florence whipped around to see who had made this sound, she was faced with Isabella leaning over her mixer, her hair falling down in front of her face, but Florence recognised her nevertheless. Blood shot to her face and reddened her cheeks, so she quickly averted her eyes and acted as if nothing had happened. She did want Isabella to notice her, but on the other hand, she also wanted to remain a face in the crowd, able to admire Isabella unrecognised.

Isabella coughed again and Florence turned to look at her once more. She hadn’t moved and was still bent over the mixer; her shirt revealed a lot of cleavage and Florence couldn’t help but stare at the skin which was revealed this way. If she moved her head to the side a bit, she could even spot the seam of a bra. She moved her head so fast that she tore a muscle in her neck, but she couldn’t be caught staring at Isabella’s underwear.

Florence managed to not look back at the stage for quite some time, but then she felt something tickling the back of her neck, as if someone was standing close behind her. She glanced back over her shoulder and spotted Isabella at the edge of the stage, connecting some cables.

When she saw that Florence was looking at her, she mouthed, “Oh, hi there.”

Florence was sure she had never been this red in her entire life. Luckily, other people were moving closer to the stage now, and soon Florence was surrounded by the sound of excited chatter. She was disappearing into a crowd, just as she had wanted, and she would be able to stare at Isabella from the safety of the masses.

Loud music had started up, and the lights were slowly dimmed. Some of the people had started to dance, others were still trying to keep a conversation going. Florence was watching the crowd and avoided looking at the stage because she feared that Isabella was standing right behind her, and Florence couldn’t be caught staring at her. Some people, both men and women, glanced in her direction, but Florence didn’t give them any reason to come over and talk to her. She didn’t need a distraction now.

Luckily, it didn’t take too long for Isabella to come on stage. This time, Florence was prepared for the gig. She had promised herself not to worry again about it being over soon. When the lights dimmed more and the people around her began to cheer, she finally dared to turn around.

Isabella had reappeared. She was still wearing the same shirt, and tight, black jeans, as Florence noticed now. Isabella smiled at the audience, her eyes directed towards the middle. She waved and smiled at them and Florence felt her heart beat faster at the sight.

The first song started and Florence finally allowed herself to stare at Isabella and get lost in the movements her fingers made. She was aware of people dancing around her and she realised she would look awkward to anyone who saw her staring at the DJ when everyone was dancing.

Isabella’s face was furrowed in concentration, but she looked happy. Florence had often imagined that making music would be like this. Sometimes, her gaze strayed from Isabella’s face down to her breast and she stared for a bit, before she came to her senses and promised herself she would listen to the music from now on and not be distracted by Isabella.

When Isabella played the third song, Florence felt movement next to her and realised that someone was trying to dance with her. It turned out to be one of the women who had looked at her earlier. Florence decided to dance with her for a bit to keep up the appearance that she had come to the club for no other reason but the music. Because there wasn’t much room, Florence and the woman danced pressed together. Florence stepped on her foot more than once, but the woman didn’t seem to mind.

After two more songs, they had moved around in such a way that Florence was staring at the stage again. She and Isabella made eye contact and neither of them dared to blink until the woman stepped on Florence’s toes, and Florence winced in pain, and looked down at her feet. It was only then that she noticed that her cheeks were hot to the touch and that she must be bright red with embarrassment or excitement or arousal.

Since she wasn’t particularly interested in the woman, she gave up dancing with Florence fairly quickly. Florence could go back staring at Isabella as much as she wanted undisturbed. Isabella didn’t look her way again, but it was enough for Florence to observe how she moved her body in time with the music.

This time, the gig felt longer than any Florence had ever been to. She thought it probably was because her heart was racing continually or because she kept waiting for Isabella to look at her. When it was over, Florence’s forehead was damp with sweat and she couldn’t feel her legs.

When Isabella had played her last song, she thanked them all for coming out to see her and told them she hoped she would be back soon for another gig. Florence thought that Isabella must have addressed the audience earlier as well, but she couldn’t recall a single incident.

Wrung out, she limped back to the bar where Beccy was waiting for her, a big smile on her face.

“How was it?” she smiled.

“I can’t feel my feet,” Florence complained.

“And how was Isabella?”

Florence slumped onto one of the barstools and felt her face grow hot again. “We made eye contact,” she told Beccy.

“Ooooh, exciting stuff. And yet you’re still standing. Well, sitting.”

Florence decided to ignore Beccy’s quips. “And have you heard anything?” she asked. “Is she coming to the bar later?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t heard anything,” Beccy answered. “You are more than welcome to wait, of course.”

Florence ordered a Swimming Pool and a glass of water and had finished both drinks in less than ten minutes.

“Careful there.” Beccy took away both glasses. “You don’t want to be completely smashed when you meet the love of your life.”

“She’s not to love of my life,” Florence slurred.

“The hearts in your eyes tell a different tale.”

Florence rolled her eyes and let her head sink onto the bar. Beccy pushed another glass of water towards her.

“Drink this,” she ordered.

“I don’t want to,” Florence mumbled.

“Drink it or you will regret it later,” Beccy warned her.

“Have you seen her yet?” Florence wanted to know, raising her head. “Is Isabella here?”

“Shhh, keep your voice down,” Beccy hissed. “You’re louder than the music.”

Florence sighed and put her head down again. “Wake me up if she turns up.”

“Florence, you can’t …,” Beccy started, but Florence didn’t hear the rest of the sentence because she was sound asleep.

*

When Florence woke up again, it was to the sound of Beccy softly calling her name.

“Florence, wake up, we’re closing.”

“Isabella.” Florence jerked awake.

“You’re in luck,” Beccy said, “she didn’t turn up.”

Florence groaned. Her head was pounding and her whole body was stiff form the uncomfortable position she had slept in.

“I did give her the letter though,” Beccy assured Florence. “I handed it to her personally.”

Florence stood up. “And what did she say?”

“I didn’t stay and watch her read the whole thing,” Beccy shrugged. “I don’t even know if she read it there and then. Anyhow, she didn’t give me a message for you.”

“When will she be back?” Florence asked eagerly.

“I don’t know,” Beccy shrugged. “But don’t beat yourself up. She got your letter and she didn’t come out to the bar anyway, so you did all you could possibly do.”

“She talked to me,” Florence remembered, blushing at the memory. “She said hi to me.”

“There you go.” Beccy helped her up. “You made progress.”


	3. The Third Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabella comes to the club to talk to Florence about the letter she wrote to her.

Florence didn’t think that she would see Isabella anytime soon. She calculated, based on previous gigs she had done, that the next one would most likely be in spring. It didn’t matter; Isabella had her letter and she might have read it by now and she would know that she had an admirer. This was enough for Florence.

Two weeks after Isabella’s gig she was back behind the bar at the club, serving drinks. It was a usual Saturday night. The club was filled with people and Florence had enough to do to keep her busy. Beccy was there as well. Every time they met at work Beccy asked her if she had heard anything from Isabella. Florence always said no. There was no way Isabella could reach her.

It was still early in the evening, around eleven, when Beccy suddenly gripped Florence’s arm and almost made her drop the glass she was filling with rum.

“She’s here,” she whispered.

“Who is here?” Florence asked and turned around.

Beccy didn’t need to answer the question for her. She spotted Isabella immediately.

“I think your letter made quite a big impression on her,” Beccy whispered.

Florence turned back to the bottles and finished filling the glass. “Oh, be quiet. She’s probably just here because it’s a cool club.”

“If you don’t hurry up, somebody else will take her order though,” Beccy pointed out.

“She won’t even remember me.”

“But this is your chance,” Beccy pushed her. “Now you can buy her a drink.”

Florence didn’t move.

“Give me the glass.” Beccy took away the glass Florence was holding.” I will finish this and you go and talk to her.”

Florence straightened her tie and her top hat in the mirror behind the bar before she turned around to face Isabella.

Isabella had sat down on one of the barstools and was leaning on the bar. Tonight, she was wearing another shirt which revealed a lot of cleavage. It might have been bright red or purple (it was difficult to tell in the dim light of the club). From the way Florence had seen her walk earlier, she was sure that Isabella was wearing high heels. Florence felt shabby in her working clothes when she saw Isabella looking glamourous.

“What can I get you?” Florence asked Isabella, trying to act nonchalantly. She was sure though that she blushed.

“A Last Word, please.”

Florence nodded, not looking at Isabella directly. She turned back to the bottles of alcohol and started to mix Isabella’s drink.

“Say it’s on the house,” Beccy whispered in her ear.

“Don’t worry, I will,” Florence said.

Her hands were shaking with nerves when she poured some gin and some green Chartreuse into a glass. She was glad that she had been working in the club for several months because she knew how to prepare almost every cocktail by heart.

When she was done, she expected Isabella to be gone. But she was still in the same spot as before.

“It’s on the house,” Florence told her without making eye contact.

“Oh that’s nice, thank you.” Isabella took a sip of her cocktail. “It’s really good.”

“Thank you,” Florence mumbled.

“I have a slightly odd question,” Isabella said when Florence didn’t move from the spot. “I’m looking for someone. I think she works here. Her name is Florence.”

“That’s me.” Florence heart beat so fast that she heard it louder than the bass.

“Oh, that’s convenient.” Isabella smiled at her. “Do you have a minute?”

“I’m not sure.” Florence glanced around and tried to determine how many people were waiting for a drink.

Beccy, who was standing nearby and had evidently overheard their conversation motioned Florence to continue.

“If it’s inconvenient now, I can come back another day,” Isabella offered.

“No, it’s fine,” Florence said quickly. “I have a couple of minutes.”

“I wanted to talk to you about this.” Isabella opened a small, black clutch bag and got out the letter Florence had written to her.

“It’s –,” Florence started to answer.

“It was really nice of you to write it,” Isabella cut her short quickly. “I had no idea that there were people who are such big fans of me.”

“So you didn’t think it was creepy?”

“No, not at all,” Isabella assured her. “I felt honoured.”

Florence blushed again and began to stammer an explanation.

“This is also the reason why I came here today,” Isabella went on. “I wanted to meet you in person and thank you for the letter.”

“You’re welcome,” Florence told her. “It’s true, you know, I mean, everything that I said in the letter.”

“You’re very kind,” Isabella told her. “And thank you again for the cocktail. If anything, I should invite you to a drink.”

“You can always do that,” Florence told her, feeling braver now that Isabella was so nice.

“I might just do that, yes,” Isabella said in a mock-thoughtful voice. “Will you be wearing this outfit?”

“No, it’s just for work.” Florence touched the hat on her head, conscious of how silly she must look.

“That’s a shame. I like the hat.”

“Where would you like to go?” Florence asked. She didn’t know much about restaurants and bars in London; her knowledge didn’t go beyond where you could find the cheapest food and alcohol.

“Are you serious?” Isabella asked.

Florence felt her heart grow heavy. She hadn’t considered the possibility that Isabella was joking. “I don’t know,” she stammered. “Only if you want to, of course. I mean, I guess you might be busy and stuff.”

“No, I said I want to take you, didn’t I?” So why not,” Isabella shrugged. “We can talk about your music, if you want to.”

“No, please don’t feel obliged to buy dinner for me just because I wrote you a nice letter,” Florence told her.

Isabella’s eyes wandered across her for a second, from the top of her head, down her thighs as far as she could see until the bar hid the rest of Florence’s legs. “No, I want to,” Isabella assured her. “It’s been ages since I took someone out to dinner.”

Florence felt encouraged. “All right,” she agreed. She felt light-headed at the prospect of going out for dinner with Isabella, and she was sure that Isabella would come to her senses any minute now. Therefore, she added quickly, “Where do you want to go?”

“I know a really nice restaurant on Broadwick Street,” Isabella thought out loud. “It’s nothing special, but it might be nice. Do you have to work every day or do you get time off as well?”

“I only work three nights a week, so I’m sure we’ll find a day,” Florence told her, unable to hide her excitement now.

“And what do you do when you’re not working here?” Isabella wanted to know.

“I’m a student at the Camberwell College of Arts.”

“Oh, that’s sounds interesting.” Isabella was the first person who didn’t ask her how she expected to find work afterwards. “You can tell me all about it during dinner.”

During their conversation, Isabella hadn’t paid much attention to her drink, but now took another sip of it.

“Yes, I would like that.”

Beccy went past behind her back and petted her on the shoulder encouragingly.

“Are you free next Friday?” Isabella asked.

Florence nodded.

“Well, I’d say we meet in front of the restaurant,” Isabella said matter-of-factly.

“At?”

“Eight, if that’s all right with you?”

“Sure, yeah, that’s fine.” Florence’s hands were shaking and she crossed her arms in front of her chest, so that Isabella wouldn’t notice.

“Do you have a pen by any chance?” Isabella asked.

Florence handed her the pen she always carried in the front pocket of her apron. Isabella took a napkin out of the napkin holder on the bar and started to write down a telephone number.

“This is my telephone number,” Isabella told her and handed her the napkin. “Just in case you need something or you won’t be able to make it after all.”

“Thanks.” Florence eagerly took the napkin from Isabella and hid it in her apron pocket.

“Well, I have to go,” Isabella said, checking the time on her phone, “but I’m looking forward to seeing you on Friday.”

“Me too,” Florence told her.

“See you then.” Isabella waved at her and was off.

“See?” Beccy walked past her again. “Your tactics work.”

“Do you think she thinks it’s a date?” Florence asked.

“I have absolutely no idea what she is thinking,” Beccy told her honestly, “but I’m guessing you will find out on Friday.”


	4. The Fourth Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabella takes Florence out to dinner.

Florence had been on dates before. Of course she had. She was familiar with the cold feet and the butterflies in her stomach and the heavy pounding of her heart in her chest. But this time she felt sick days before. She was sure she wouldn’t survive until Friday. And she wasn’t even sure it really was a date. Neither of them had used this term in their conversation.

Again, Florence tried to decide what to wear, but this time she couldn’t make a decision. She wouldn’t only see Isabella, but Isabella would see her. Beccy wasn’t helpful at all – she just told her she shouldn’t worry about it too much and just wear whatever felt comfortable. In the end, her mother was so fed up with her constant complaining about how she had nothing to wear that she went up to her room and pulled a dress out of the closet for her to wear. Florence grudgingly gave in and agreed to wear the dress.

On Friday, Florence tried to stay at home to get ready for the date, but her mother caught her and sent her to school.

“You’re not 15 anymore, Florence,” she told her, “grow up.”

Evening couldn’t come fast enough. Florence was so excited to see Isabella again that it was impossible for her to focus on her classes. All she could think about was that she would be sitting opposite Isabella in a couple of hours.

She went home earlier, hoping her mother wouldn’t be there. She wanted to get dressed in peace. In a last minute change of plans, she decided against wearing the dress her mother had chosen and picked nice trousers and a shirt. She almost also put on a top hat she owned, but changed her mind because she couldn’t tell if Isabella had been joking about liking the hat.

When she was finally happy with her hair, she was already late. It would take her more than half an hour to get to the restaurant Isabella had picked and she had only twenty minutes left to get there. Cursing herself for always being late, she stumbled down the stairs and put on a coat as fast as she could.

There was a knock on the door when Florence was reaching for her handbag. She cursed again. Seeing that she was already late, she couldn’t risk losing more time by talking to whoever was outside the door. But she also had to walk past that person if she wanted to get out of her house and still be somewhat on time. In the end, she decided to open the door and tell whoever was waiting for her that she didn’t have time now.

One of her shoelaces was still undone when she opened the door. It wasn’t one of the Mormons who came to visit them so often. It was Isabella.

“Hello.” Isabella beamed at her.

“Hello.” Florence stared at her and couldn’t say anything beside this short greeting.

“I’m glad I still caught you,” Isabella told her, “but Beccy told me you might be late.”

“How do you know where I live?” Florence asked confused.

“Beccy gave me your address,” Isabella explained. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all.” Florence was still too surprised to say much.

“Shall we go then?” Isabella asked. “You have to lead the way though because I have no idea how to get to the restaurant from here.”

Florence stepped outside and tripped over the open shoelace. Isabella had to grab her shoulder so that Florence wouldn’t stumble down the few steps to the street.

“Careful there,” Isabella told her.

Florence didn’t reply. This was the first time that Isabella had touched her and even though there was Isabella’s glove and Florence’s coat and shirt between skin-on-skin contact, Florence could feel Isabella’s strong grip and that was enough to set her heart pounding. Quickly, she bent down to do up her shoelace and to hide how red her face was.

“Ready?” Isabella asked when Florence stood back up again.

Florence nodded and together they walked down the street to the nearest bus station. All the while, Florence glanced at Isabella out of the corner of her eye. Isabella was wearing a short, grey coat and knee-high black boots. Her hair was open and fell down over her shoulders and back. She had dyed the ends blue and Florence thought it went terribly well with her coat.

The bus came quickly and they got on. Isabella went up to the top and Florence followed her. She didn’t want to admit it, but Isabella walking up the steep steps in front of her gave her the opportunity to look at Isabella’s butt. When Isabella reached the top of the stairs, she turned around and smiled at Florence. Florence quickly looked down.

They sat down in the two front seats and Isabella put up her feet on the railing. Florence, who had the seat on the aisle, looked out the front window determinately.

 “Cold today, isn’t it?” Isabella tried to get a conversation going.

Florence nodded. She wasn’t particularly cold, but she didn’t want to disagree with Isabella about something as unimportant as the weather.

“And how are things with you?” Isabella asked.

Florence was glad that Isabella had asked her this question because it gave her the opportunity to tell her about her coursework which had received quite a good mark today.

“Well done,” Isabella praised her. “That’s really impressive.”

Florence blushed again and was annoyed with herself because her face was always red when Isabella talked to her.

“This is our stop,” she said quickly when she spotted the tube station in the distance.

The tube ride Florence spent by convincing herself to relax and just be herself. But then she remembered that Isabella Summers was sitting next to her. This information was enough to set her heart pounding. Isabella talked to her and told her stories about what she had done since they had last seen each other. Florence was only half listening. Isabella sat opposite her, which made it hard to understand every word anyway, and Florence had her eyes fixed on a point slightly above Isabella’s head because she couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact with her.

Their tube ride was only three stops long and soon they re-joined the hustle and bustle of London’s streets on a Friday night. Isabella led Florence around two corners until they were standing in front of a small restaurant. There were already Christmas decorations up in the windows and it looked festive. Isabella opened the door for her and Florence stepped into the warm interior.

A woman was waiting next to the entrance. She offered to take their coats and led them to a small table in a cosy alcove. Florence noticed that the woman’s uniform was similar to what she had to wear at work, only that the woman’s looked much nicer than hers.

“Do you like it?” Isabella wanted to know once they had sat down.

“It’s very cosy,” Florence told her.

Before she could say more, the woman was back. She handed them two menus and when Florence opened hers, she saw that there were no prices next to the dishes. She had only heard of restaurants which offered such menus, so that the person who had been invited didn’t know how much money would be spent on them, but she had never been to such a place.

“I’m buying.”

“I can’t accept this,” Florence told her.

“Please, I want you to.” Isabella was still smiling.

Florence had another look at the menu. Most of it was in Italian and the words she did understand didn’t help her in determining how expensive this meal would be. In the end, she decided to pick the dish that sounded the most interesting.

“But next time we go out I’m buying,” Florence told Isabella determinately.

“Next time?” Isabella had a strange twinkle in her eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Florence apologised. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Don’t worry about it. There might be a next time,” Isabella said in a teasing tone of voice, and Florence couldn’t be sure if she was serious or not.

“Have you decided yet?” The woman was back to take their orders.

Isabella ordered in flawless Italian (or at least it sounded flawless to Florence’s ears), while Florence stammered through her order. Isabella had also ordered a bottle of red wine, which arrived quickly at their table.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Isabella said as she poured the wine.

“Not at all,” Florence said, glad for some alcohol to help her with her nerves.

Isabella gestured that Florence should taste the wine and Florence took a sip. It tasted sweet, yet had a spicy edge to it, completely different than any wine Florence had ever drunken.

“Do you like it?” Isabella wanted to know.

“Yes,” Florence nodded.

For the first time this evening, Florence and Isabella made eye contact. Isabella had black make-up around her eyes, which made them look much bigger than they actually were. Isabella didn’t blink, and neither did Florence. After five long seconds, Florence finally looked away, her face feeling hot.

They didn’t speak much until their starters arrived. Then any further conversation was hindered by them eating.

“So you want to make music?” Isabella asked Florence while they were waiting for their main course.

“Yes,” Florence admitted. “I haven’t told many people because they usually say it won’t work out, but you’re a musician yourself and …”

“And you thought I would understand better,” Isabella finished her thought for her.

Florence nodded.

“Well, Florence, let me tell you something,” Isabella began.

Florence had to force herself to keep listening because she was momentarily too surprised by Isabella addressing her by her name for the first time.

“As someone who has been able to earn a bit of money from making music, I can tell you that it’s tough and you might not be able to make a living out of it. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t give it a try if you really want to do it.”

“I do,” Florence told her. “I guess because I feel it’s the only thing I can do.”

“What sort of music do you make?” Isabella wanted to know.

“I sing, mostly,” Florence told her. “I took lessons when I was younger and people have told me that I’m quite good.”

“I’d love to hear you sing someday,” Isabella said earnestly. “Will you sing for me?”

“Sure,” Florence shrugged. She had no problem with singing in front of people, and the more alcohol she consumed, the more likely she was to sing.

“I’m looking forward to it.” Isabella took a sip of her wine and licked her lips.

By then, their main course had arrived. Florence alternated her attention between her own plate of seafood and Isabella eating a risotto. Sometimes their eyes met across the table and Florence always looked away quickly, not able to make eye contact with Isabella for more than a second or two. She also began to feel the effects of the wine: Her head felt light and she felt dizzy and when she closed her eyes, everything started to spin. Another effect of the alcohol was that the idea of leaning across the table and kissing Isabella suddenly was very appealing.

“Do you want any coffee?” Isabella asked Florence once they had finished.

This question signalled that they were slowly nearing the end of the evening, but Florence didn’t want it to be over yet. And if a coffee meant they would stay longer, she wouldn’t say no to one.

Isabella ordered the coffee from a small, black menu. Florence had no idea what she was about to drink and she didn’t much care anyway. She was busily trying to think of ways how to extend the evening.

The coffee came in a little, steaming cup, not much bigger than a thimble. Florence wanted to pick it up and take a sip from it (to be fair, one sip would be enough to empty the whole thing), but Isabella put her hand over Florence’s to stop her.

“Not so fast,” she said softly. “You have to cherish it.”

Florence’s skin tingled where Isabella had touched her. It had only been for a brief moment, but it had been better than any food she had tasted all evening.

Following Isabella’s wish, Florence picked up the cup and took a tiny sip, just enough for a taste. From what she could tell, it was very strong, dark coffee and much better than the cheap coffee Florence usually drank.

“What do you think?” Isabella wanted to know.

“It’s nice,” Florence said. “What is it?”

“My favourite coffee.”

“It’s pretty strong.”

“That’s why I like it so much,” Isabella said.

Isabella’s foot brushed against Florence’s leg. At first, Florence thought that it had been an accident, but then Isabella began to move her foot deliberately up and down Florence’s leg. Normally, Florence would have blushed and would have tried to move her leg away from any such advances, but the alcohol and their easy conversation had made her brave. Not to mention that she welcomed the advances quite a bit. She bit her lower lip in what she hoped was a seductive manner and from how Isabella’s eyes shot up to Florence’s lip, Florence guessed it was working.

“Do you have any plans for this weekend?” Isabella wanted to know.

“I have to work tomorrow and on Sunday,” Florence told her.

“That’s a shame. I have a gig tomorrow and I would have liked you to come.”

“Oh no, I would have loved to come.” Florence was genuinely distraught.

“Don’t worry about it. There will be other possibilities for you to come to one of my gigs,” Isabella told her, her foot still pressed against Florence’s leg. “And if you want, we can meet up one day and you can sing for me.”

It was cold comfort, but Florence thought it was better than nothing. Not being able to go to the gig tomorrow had ruined the date for her a bit. Isabella noticed her changed mood.

“Don’t be sad now,” she told her. “I can give you something to remember me by.”

Florence looked up expectantly. “Yes?”

Isabella put her hand over Florence’s again and leaned forward over the table. She kissed Florence on the mouth lightly and then pulled back, but Florence followed her and their lips met again. Surprised, Isabella pulled back.

“Oh no,” Florence exclaimed. “I shouldn’t have.”

“You shouldn’t have what?” Isabella wanted to know. “Because if the answer is you shouldn’t have kissed me back, then I can tell you right now that that’s bullshit because you’re amazing at kissing.”

“Am I?” Florence asked, surprised.

“That thing you did with your teeth, that was pretty amazing, yes.” Isabella clarified.

“So you didn’t mind?” Florence asked.

“I kissed you first, didn’t I?”

Florence giggled. “Yes, you did.”

“And it’s a promise,” Isabella went on. “We will see each other again, sooner rather than later.”

Florence beamed at her.

“And you already have my telephone number, so feel free to text me any time,” Isabella invited her.

“Yes, I will.”

“Because there’s still much we have to talk about,” Isabella added. “You need to tell me everything about university.”

“It’s not that exciting.”

“It is for someone who also went to university,” Isabella said. “I want to know what has changed.”

Florence smiled again.

They said goodbye at the tube station since their trains were going in opposite directions. Isabella hugged Florence and Florence noticed for the first time just how little Isabella was. The ride back home Florence spent in blissful ignorance, not aware of neither the people around her nor the stops they passed. Her thoughts circled around Isabella and the kiss they had shared.


	5. The Fifth Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isabella picks up Florence from work on Christmas Eve to give her a Christmas present.

It was Christmas Eve and Florence’s last day of work. The club hosted a Christmas party for all the people who had nothing better to do on Christmas Eve than to jump around to loud music. Florence had exchanged the top hat for antlers and Beccy wore a necklace made of sleigh bells.

Florence had told Beccy about her date with Isabella because Beccy had insisted on hearing the story. Florence had withheld the kiss however. She didn’t know why, but she wanted to keep it to herself for now. Even without this bit of information, Beccy managed to make all sorts of insinuations about her and Isabella’s relationship. Florence couldn’t help but smile and think about how much she wished for the things Beccy implied to happen.

She didn’t know if it was Christmas or the time of night, but Florence thought that people were drunker than usual. She didn’t mind; nothing could happen to her because as soon as someone tried to touch her, security would throw them out. The only thing she found unnerving was taking orders from drunk guys who couldn’t even stand upright anymore. But she kept herself going by remembering that this would be her last night for two weeks.

She hadn’t seen Isabella since their date, but they had been texting. Florence had found out that Isabella was a funny person and she had told her many of her secrets she had never shared with anyone. Isabella had remained supportive of Florence’s wish to become a musician and Florence had realised that her feelings for Isabella were slowly becoming more than a crush. She refused to fall in love with someone she had only talked to twice in person, but then she remembered all the nights she had spent curled up underneath her blanket, texting with Isabella until the sun came up, and then she thought it wasn’t so surprising at all.

Florence was allowed a 15-minute break every two hours and when she went to the locker room at a quarter past twelve she saw that Isabella had texted her to wish her merry Christmas. A few minutes later, Isabella had texted her again and told her she would pick her up from work to give to give her a Christmas present. Florence hadn’t expected to get a Christmas present from Isabella; she hadn’t bought her something because she thought it might put Isabella in an uncomfortable position if she didn’t have something for her in return.

Florence texted back that she would get off at three and would wait for Isabella in front of the club. She then hid her phone in her apron’s pocket, as she often did, since they weren’t allowed to use phones at work, and went back outside.

The final two hours dragged on forever and it felt like two days to Florence. It was the busiest time of the night, when everyone tried to order drinks before the club closed. But to Florence it felt as if it took her one second to mix a cocktail and three hours to wait for someone to order the next one.

But eventually the two hours had passed and suddenly, Florence couldn’t move slowly enough. She didn’t want Beccy to see that Isabella was picking her up. First, she locked herself inside the bathroom for five minutes while she waited for Beccy to change. When she came out and saw that Beccy was still there, she pretended that she had forgotten something in the bar and went back. She had to make sure she and Beccy wouldn’t leave together.

Her plan worked and when she returned to the locker room, Beccy was gone. Florence changed quickly and rushed outside. It was cold, colder than it had been in years on Christmas morning. Florence was sure that it would be snowing in a couple of hours.

Isabella was wearing a red coat and black high heels. Her legs were covered in thin tights and Florence suddenly felt guilty for having made her wait this long.

“Merry Christmas,” Isabella said and pressed a kiss to Florence’s cheek. Her lips were ice-cold.

“You must be freezing,” Florence said. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting so long.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Isabella told her. “It was worth it.” She smiled at Florence. “Do you have a couple of hours?”

Since it was the middle of the night and Florence didn’t have to be home until nine or ten in the morning, she nodded.

“I would like to show you my flat, if you want to,” Isabella told her.

Florence’s heart beat faster. “Yes.”

“It’s not far from here. We can walk if you’re not too cold.”

Together, they began walking down the empty street. They both had their hands buried in their coat pockets. Florence was only wearing a thin jacket and was freezing, but Isabella didn’t complain and so Florence didn’t say anything.

They arrived in front of a block of flats. In some windows, Christmas decorations were flashing and reminded Florence what day it was. In a couple of hours, the people behind those windows would wake up and open their presents. Florence couldn’t care less. All that was important to her was the fact that she was together with Isabella.

Isabella pulled out a key and unlocked the front door. Behind it was a corridor which had a carpet floor and cheap redrawings of famous paintings that made Florence cringe.

They walked along the narrow hallway and up two flights of stairs. It was so quiet around them that it felt as if they were the last people on earth. They arrived in front of a white door that had a brass number 7 on it.

“This is it;” Isabella said as she unlocked the door.

Isabella’s flat was small but tidy. They stepped into a vestibule which opened up into a combined living and kitchen area. From there, a staircase led up to a bed and a TV set, which was separated by the space below only by a balustrade.

“It’s nice,” Florence remarked.  She really thought so. She would like an apartment like this one for herself when she moved out.

A digital clock on the oven showed that it was half past three in the morning. Isabella shrugged out of her coat and dropped it to the floor in the middle of the kitchen. Then she stepped closer to Florence and helped her out of her jacket; she was careful with it and hung it over the backrest of a chair.

“Would you like something to drink?” Isabella asked her.

“No, thank you.” Isabella was still standing close to Florence and Florence felt nervous and excited.

“I’m going to have a beer, if that’s all right with you.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Isabella got a beer from the fridge and sat down on a sofa which was half facing the kitchen and half facing the windows. Florence sat down next to her.

“So …,” Florence started. She felt the need to get a conversation going.

Isabella turned to her and kissed her lightly. Isabella melted.

“I like kissing you,” Isabella smirked. “You always make it feel as if it was the greatest thing in the world.”

Florence blushed.

“Have you ever done something like this before?” Isabella asked softly.

“You mean kissed someone?” Florence clarified. “Yes, many times.”

“Anything more than that?”

“Yes.”

“But never with a woman?”

“No.”

Isabella leaned in closer to Florence, so her lips were brushing Florence’s earlobe. “Then I’ll be gentle with you.”

Florence shuddered.

“If that’s all right with you,” Isabella added.

“Yes,” Florence breathed.

Isabella kissed her again. It was a bit rougher this time and Florence kissed back with just as much enthusiasm.

“You’re quite the kisser,” Isabella remarked when she pulled back again. “Had a lot of practice?”

“Yes.” Florence tried to sound confident, but her face felt hot and red.

“I’m looking forward to a longer display of your skills,” Isabella told her.

She stood up and extended a hand to Florence, which Florence took. Isabella led her to the stairs which led up to the bed. Thanks to Isabella’s last comment, Florence felt more confident and wanted to show Isabella what she could do.

Shortly before Isabella reached the first step, Florence tightened her grip and pulled Isabella around with such force that some of Isabella’s beer spilled on the floor. She pressed Isabella against the wall and towered over her, using it to her advantage that she was a lot taller than Isabella. Florence bent down and began to kiss and bite Isabella’s neck and Isabella sucked in air in surprise. Florence could feel Isabella squirming and so she gripped her hand even harder.

“Florence,” Isabella breathed.

Florence felt pleasure at Isabella saying her name like this. “Upstairs,” she whispered into Isabella’s ear, desperate now to be as close to her as possible.

Isabella pushed herself away from the wall and Florence struggled to keep balance, which made Isabella giggle. She let go of Florence’s hand and began to walk up the stairs, glancing behind her to see if Florence was following her. Florence thought it was one of the sexiest sights she had ever seen. She hurried after Isabella immediately, desperate for another look like this from those big eyes.

The ceiling was low upstairs and Florence couldn’t stand upright. Isabella had no troubles in this respect. She had put the bottle of beer down on the floor next to her mattress and was busy unbuttoning her dress, which had the buttons at the front.

“I want to do that,” Florence told her.

Isabella lowered her hands to her sides and nodded at Florence who stepped closer, her head bent, careful not to hit it on the low ceiling. Isabella had already undone several buttons, and there weren’t many left for Florence. She didn’t look up while she was working on them, but she could feel Isabella’s gaze on the back of her head. Isabella was wearing a black bra and black pants. Over the pants, a lace garter belt was fixed to black stockings which Florence had earlier mistaken for tights. Florence felt underdressed in her jeans and shirt.

“Don’t stare at me like that, you’re making me blush.” Isabella really was blushing.

Florence smiled at her. “You’re stunning,” she said.

Isabella blushed even more and decided to direct the attention from her to Florence. “May I?” she asked, a hand on the button of Florence’s jeans.

Florence nodded. Isabella unbuttoned the jeans and undid the zip. Her fingers brushed down Florence’s mons pubis and Florence shuddered involuntarily. Florence could feel Isabella hesitate, the tip of her finger hovering over Florence’s pants, but then she decided to move on. Together, they took off Florence’s trousers. Florence wanted to take off her shirt as well, but Isabella told her to keep it on. Isabella reached behind her to undo Florence’s bra under her shirt, but had to discover that Florence wasn’t wearing one.

“Oh,” she made in surprise. “Even better.”

They started to kiss again. Florence had a hand on Isabella’s hip and one in her hair. Isabella held Florence embraced. Florence was getting more and more eager to be touched by Isabella, but Isabella was taking her time with her, driving her crazy with soft neck kisses.

When Florence couldn’t take it anymore, she gripped Isabella’s hip harder and moved her backwards towards the mattress. Isabella followed Florence’s lead willingly and let herself fall down into the softness of the bed. She lay there, her hair tousled, her eyes glazed over with arousal. Florence sank to her knees next to the bed and crawled on top of Isabella.

Now Isabella didn’t hesitate to touch Florence. She was still teasing her, but her hand was on Florence’s breast now, stroking and twisting her nipple through the shirt, and Florence moaned. Isabella bit her bottom lip at that sound, which made Florence ache with want.

Florence knew more about female underwear than most of the guys she’d made out with had done. But she had no idea how to unhook Isabella’s stockings from her lace garter belt without tearing the fabric. Isabella watched her with interest while she tried to come up with a strategy.

Florence decided not to let it show that she had no idea what to do. Instead, she let Isabella play with her nipples while she bit and sucked the skin on Isabella’s neck. At least Isabella’s bra was straightforward. Isabella bent her back so that Florence could unhook it, and then struggled out of it. Isabella’s breasts were much bigger than Florence’s and Florence cupped one of them in her hand while she bit Isabella’s neck just to see what Isabella’s reaction would be. Isabella moaned and moved her hips and legs in a way that suggested she craved a hand or a tongue between her legs. Florence, though, was focused on getting her revenge for earlier.

“Stop teasing me,” Isabella hissed, but Florence only chuckled.

Florence kissed down Isabella’s chest and stomach, nibbling at her rips and her hips. Isabella flinched and giggled. Florence still had no idea what to do about Isabella’s underwear, and the closer she came to where she wanted to go, the more she needed to come up with a plan.

Isabella’s giggles quickly turned into pants and sighs when Florence wandered lower. Her pants were soft and felt nice to the touch and Florence couldn’t stop kissing the waistband. But Isabella became impatient and gripped the hair at the back of Florence’s head, lifting her hips slightly. Florence dipped her tongue lower and pressed it to Isabella’s clit through her pants. Isabella let out a long moan, the grip in Florence’s hair was suddenly tighter. Her gaze wandered up to meet Isabella’s. Isabella was staring at her, her eyes wide.

Florence moved the fabric of Isabella’s pants to one side and dipped her finger into the wetness there. Isabella hissed and moved her hips closer to Florence’s finger. Florence used to momentum to push her finger inside of Isabella and Isabella gasped.

The sensation was new to Florence. She had never done anything like this before. She hoped she was doing well because she wanted to give Isabella pleasure. So far, she thought she must be doing all right because Isabella moaned and gripped the duvet. Florence continued to move her finger in and out of Isabella, relishing how Isabella’s muscles clenched around it.

Then Isabella gripped Florence’s wrist. “Wait.”

Florence quickly removed her finger and wanted to ask if she had done something wrong, but Isabella gripped Florence’s shirt and pulled her down. Florence shuffled around and soon was lying on top of Isabella.

“That was good,” she whispered into Florence’s ear. “I can’t believe you have never done anything like this.”

Florence giggled into her neck. The giggle soon turned into gasps when Isabella moved her hand so it was between Florence’s legs. Isabella looked up at her and bit her lip at the sight of Florence. Florence had to use both hands for purchase on the bed while Isabella played with her clit through her pants.

“Can I touch you?” Isabella then asked and Florence nodded.

Isabella smiled and moved her hand up so she was stroking the waistband of Florence’s pants. She lifted it and touched the skin underneath it. Florence shivered in anticipation.

Isabella’s finger was gentle and careful at first, merely teasing Florence’s clit, but Florence had to bite her lip so she wouldn’t moan loudly. Isabella lifted her other hand and put a finger to Florence’s bottom lip.

“No, I want to hear you.”

Florence let out a gasp and as Isabella stroked her clit faster and faster, she moaned louder and louder, not caring if Isabella’s neighbours could hear her. Beneath her, Isabella was lying with her mouth open, gasping quietly.

It didn’t take long for Florence to come. Her moans grew even louder, and she shut her eyes to lose herself completely in Isabella’s touch. Isabella gripped Florence’s hip to hold her in place when she came and Florence let her head fall down onto the cushion beside Isabella while waves of pleasure rolled through her. Both panted into each other’s ears while Florence lay shivering on top of Isabella.

“Everything okay?” Isabella whispered into her ear.

Florence nodded and began to kiss Isabella’s neck and down her chest as she had done before. Isabella’s stomach was still ticklish, but Florence didn’t stop there and moved on to her pants.

“Wait,” Isabella stopped her again when it became obvious to her what Florence’s plan of action was. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Florence breathed. “I want to taste you.”

Isabella blushed and nodded and Florence thought it was the cutest sight she had ever seen. Again, she moved the fabric of Isabella’s pants to one side and licked her lips before tasting her for the first time. Isabella sighed contently and let her head fall back. Florence had been nervous about this part, but she quickly found out what Isabella liked and what she didn’t like, so it became easier for her to make Isabella moan and pant. Shortly before Isabella came, she gripped Florence’s hair and Florence felt the muscles on Isabella’s leg tighten, before she sighed happily.

Isabella sat up so she was face to face with Florence and kissed her. Florence blinked at her once, twice, and drew a deep breath.

“Merry Christmas,” Florence whispered.

Isabella giggled. “Was this my present?”

Florence blushed and shook her head. She didn’t have a present for Isabella, but before she could tell her so, Isabella continued.

“Can I wish for something then?”

“Of course.” Florence breathed, happy that she had gotten off so lightly.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” Isabella asked.

Florence was sure her heart had stopped and she needed to swallow a couple of times before she could answer. “Yes, of course I want to be your girlfriend.”

“Then I don’t need anything else.”

Isabella kissed her again and Florence hugged her tightly.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [See Me, Feel Me, Touch Me, Heal Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5657833) by [Isaoverfloing_withfeelings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isaoverfloing_withfeelings/pseuds/Isaoverfloing_withfeelings)




End file.
